


Prima, Natalia

by gaysquared



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/F, Ficlet, The Nutcracker Ballet, ballerinas, probably an unhealthy relationship, spies in lesbians with each other, weird angsty shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 20:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17148986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysquared/pseuds/gaysquared
Summary: Natasha has always loved the ballet.Yelena gets her a gift.





	Prima, Natalia

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don’t even know. Something in me was like “write about them watching the nutcracker and fucking bc it’s Christmas” and I just!!! Had to. 
> 
> I promise I’m not trying to sexualize the Nutcracker, lol; I see it every year with my dad so that’d be Weird. But at the same time I basically have the ballet memorized by now, so that made this easier.

Natasha should be better at this.

She’s been trained since she was a child to stamp down the feelings in her body; how to smother pain and bury sadness. How to hide joy, and fear, and anger. Every technique to do so is categorized and filed away in her mind; repetitive phrases, breathing, distraction.

The thing is, though, she’s not used to hiding pleasure.

Her own, that is; she’s perfectly capable of making love in curious spaces, determined not to be discovered. She can hide the pleasure-making; but she’s never had to hide the pleasure itself. She can be quiet, yes. She can steel herself.

But her cheeks still get rosy, her chest still heaves with breath, her neck still strains to keep her body grounded.

 

Yelena hasn’t even touched her yet, but Natasha knows she’s going to.

 

They’re sitting in an empty theater in Paris; empty except for them and the stage; the dancers and the crew. It’s a private performance, or so Yelena has told her; a very lucky experience indeed. Tchaikovsky rings triumphant throughout the empty seats, Natasha and her counterpart sat up close to watch the delicate grace of the ballerinas.

Natasha hopes this is all just to mock her. The idea that it is a real gift, sincere, from Yelena, is somehow unfathomably worse.

 

Yelena’s hand is lingering on her thigh, but near her knee; she’s not taking any risks yet. Just rests her hand there, on the skin exposed by the slit of Natasha’s long red evening gown.

“Aren’t they pretty, Natalia?” she says, voice all soft velvet, and Natasha curses herself. She hates most, that as beautiful as all the dancers are, none of them compare to Yelena. It’s a cruel joke.

 

The girls on stage dance through fake falling snow, white skirts glittering in the bright lights. Yelena’s hand is moving up her thigh now, and Natasha is terribly embarrassed to find she simply can’t breathe.

 

“You’d outshine them all on that stage,” Yelena says softly to her, fingers getting closer and closer to the seam of Natasha’s hip. “But luckily, you’re down here, aren’t you?”

There’s an odd moment where Natasha feels like crying; but she doesn’t want Yelena to stop. It’s simply a cold, hard weight in her chest. Loss, she realizes. Grief. For both of them.

She wants Yelena’s tongue in her mouth. Curse it all, she wants to hold her; hot skin on hot skin, stripped bare, all smooth bodies sliding along each other in a different kind of dance. Being tender, though, might be the most terrible crime of all; so Natasha never allows herself to be.

 

Maybe one day. Maybe.

 

“Natalia?” and it’s breathy, the blonde’s lips close to her ear, and then her fingers are beginning to creep under the soft, lacy panties Natasha wears; chose them so they wouldn’t warp the smooth lines of the dress. Natasha breathes in quick, knowing she should be harder to surprise.

“The dancers,” she says, still breathless. “The crew, the music and lighting—“

“They’ve all been paid off,” Yelena whispers, and nips at Natasha’s ear, then her neck. “Darling.”

Defenseless, she melts, like a corroded metal, deforming and warping and becoming something new entirely. Yelena’s fingers are pressing at her slick, rubbing between soft lips, and Natasha knows she’s blushing as she quietly asks for more.

 

 _Asks_. She’s told herself she can never beg.

 

Yelena gives a toothy smile, both dazzling and terrifying, and electricity crackles up Natasha’s spine. Fingers dip; a soft thumb whispering against her clit as Yelena sinks a finger inside her past the knuckle.

Natasha’s body burns with it, hot and molten, and when Yelena’s hand starts to move she can’t help but cry out softly; and mercifully, she’s quieted with a kiss.

It’s so soft, and it feels odd in contrast to how slowly but vigorously Yelena works her, determination clear as ever. It’s only a few minutes until Natasha comes, body straining and shaking, as the music crescendos, and onstage the Prima is triumphant, elegant, floating through the air on her partner’s hands in a lift.

**Author's Note:**

> Is it a healthy relationship??? No. Do I still want them to be gay together??? Fuck yeah
> 
> I’m gay and it’s Christmas and I fucking said so, so there


End file.
